


Devil's Advocate

by Suspicious_Popsicle



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:56:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3573893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suspicious_Popsicle/pseuds/Suspicious_Popsicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I received an anon prompt on tumblr to write a story for the title 'Devil's Advocate' and ended up with two distinct one shots: a canon universe story set post-game, and a modern AU. There are no explicit pairings in the canon story, but the AU is Fluri.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Canon

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters and settings in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.

It had been raining off and on all morning, periods of drizzle building up into sudden cloudbursts and petering out just as quickly only to start up again as the thunderheads rolled past overhead. Fat raindrops splattered against the windowpanes like handfuls of pebbles calling for his attention. Their staccato bursts reminded Flynn of childhood, of Yuri tossing stones at his window to get him to come out. The sound broke through his concentration. Memories kept him from work.

With a sigh, Flynn set aside the report he'd been trying to read and leaned back in his chair. It had rained the last time he'd seen Yuri, a light, misty drizzling rain from clouds too wispy to even hide the sun. He remembered how Yuri had appeared in the window, backlit by clear sunlight and blue skies, haloed by the multitudes of rain droplets glittering like prisms on his black hair, and smiling just as bright as all of creation. Radiant in that instant, he'd looked like a holy man, and, for a brief handful of moments as he hopped off the windowsill and they clasped hands, Flynn had completely forgotten that Yuri was a murderer.

The knowledge had come back to him as they'd walked and talked and caught up on everything that was happening at the furious pace of a freshly changed world. Even as Yuri talked of Estellise choosing to move to Halure with Rita, even as Flynn learned that Raven meant to split his time between acting as adviser to Harry Whitehorse and leading his unshakably loyal brigade, even as Yuri confirmed that he still meant to leave his home in Zaphias behind in favor of his fledgling guild, Flynn could not bring his focus to bear on the conversation. Uncertainties and questions distracted him. Both Yuri and himself had killed in self defense or the heat of battle, but Yuri had crossed a line. He had marked two men for death, sought them out, and murdered them. Yuri had seized power that wasn't his, the power to judge and to execute, and he had carried out his own cold will with no regard for the law.

Flynn chewed on that thought, distasteful though it was. He mulled it over as he walked with Yuri in sunlight and warmth, surrounded by beautiful gardens and the fresh scents of rain and roses. The more he considered the poisonous idea, the more he sought for what was right in Yuri's deeds, in the ramifications and in his own reactions, the more heartsick he felt. Yuri had broken the law, put himself above the law in a manner much like what Ragou and Cumore had done. He had looked at two human beings and thought to himself: 'These two do not deserve to live.' He had committed crimes for which there could be no reparation. Flynn knew what Yuri had wanted to do, he even understood the motive behind his actions, but the more he thought about it—

When Yuri stopped short, Flynn bumped into him. It broke him out of his thoughts, and he lifted his gaze to meet stormy gray eyes. A lingering trace of good humor, delicate as fallen petals, clung to Yuri's lopsided smile. The mood of the morning was shifting, however, and he knew it. The cheer in his voice didn't match his expression.

“Am I boring the mighty Commandant?”

“Can we talk? Seriously?”

Yuri gestured for him to continue. “I'm all ears.”

There were too many questions and accusations and considerations. Facts that should have been black and white were blurred by issues of morality and the bond of a lifelong friendship. Flynn wanted to open up his head and spill his thoughts out between them, sort through them all with Yuri so that he could explain each piece in turn. He wanted everything to fit together neatly to form a picture he could live with, rather than having such a jumble of puzzle pieces cluttering up his skull.

A question spilled from his lips before he had time to consider it.

“Why couldn't you have found another way?”

Yuri's smile vanished completely. “We tried the other ways first. They didn't work too well.”

“You can't use that excuse for Cumore.”

“ _Excuse_?” He laughed harshly. The sound held as little humor as the brief flash of a smile, little more than a curl of his lip, that he directed at Flynn. “I'm not going to make excuses for what I did, least of all to you. It wasn't a good choice—hell, it might not even have been the _right_ choice—but it was _mine_.”

“It isn't your place to decide who lives and who dies!”

“Well, it sure as hell wasn't their place either! I guess now that you're the Commandant, you've actually got the power to lock people up for that, don't you?”

The taunt bit deep, particularly since Ioder had pardoned Yuri less than a week earlier. There would be no punishment for the murders Yuri had committed, deserved or not. Fists clenched, Flynn had to turn his face away or risk tackling Yuri into the rose bushes behind him. His response focused on Cumore, since he still wasn't sure what he should feel about Yuri's pardon.

“I had been on my way to deal with him.”

“Yeah, and it would have been great if I'd known that.” Some of the accusation left Yuri's tone. He spoke quietly, heavily, and Flynn knew he was looking away, too, bitterness twisting his lips the way it always did when he knew the world was being unfair and that he was powerless to stop it. “I tried leaving it to you first. I always did. It would have saved everyone some trouble if you could have been the hero. The Empire was theirs, Flynn. The law was on their side. I did what had to be done.”

“I could have stopped him!” The words were out of his mouth, he was turning on Yuri almost before his oldest friend had stopped speaking. The ghost of a smile that tugged up one corner of Yuri's lips at those words was like a blade in his heart. Why had he chosen a path that couldn't ever give him peace?

“Maybe you could have,” Yuri said quietly. “But I did.”

They hadn't been able to salvage the conversation, and Yuri had left soon after that. Flynn hadn't seen him since. How long had it been since that day in the gardens, since Yuri's pardon, since the defeat of the Adephagos not long before that? Flynn had lost track of the weeks amid the chaos of settling into his new role and finding starting points for much-needed changes. With a sigh, he stood from his chair, stretching, popping joints and feeling his muscles cry out for a good, long ride or a practice bout against another swordsman. He still ran through drills every morning, but there was so much he hadn't been prepared for when he'd accepted the position of Commandant. It would be easy enough to fall into the habit of overworking as he got the hang of his command and the organizational structures he now oversaw. Eager as he was to set things right, he had to rein himself in. Change wouldn't happen overnight.

Glancing at his clock, he saw that it was late, much later than he'd intended to work. His concentration was shot, anyhow, and his bed was calling. A good night's sleep would have him right as the rain that fell outside the palace. Maybe he would even take the day off, tomorrow. At least the evening, he thought to himself as he went through the motions of preparing for bed. He could work through the morning and afternoon, then go visit the Lower Quarter in the evening.

It felt like it had been forever since he had been down to the Lower Quarter. It filtered through his tired mind in flashes of images: the sound and sparkle of the fountain in the square; the way heat rose from the paving stones after long, hot days; the way his stomach would rumble whenever he passed his favorite bakery, the one that sold the meat pies; children playing in the streets; Hanks in the middle of any important events, the unofficial voice of the Lower Quarter; the friendly welcome whenever he came by The Comet; the way the stairs creaked on the way up to Yuri's little room.

Flynn sat down on the edge of his bed and pulled the blankets close as he laid down. The feather mattress was soft and sank beneath him, but his tired mind conjured up memories of a mattress stuffed with straw, and an old bed frame that creaked and gave whenever someone curled up on it. He could almost picture Yuri's silhouette in the window as he drifted off.

* * *

 

As a child, Flynn had hated grasshoppers. He knew they were harmless, of course, but they were so bizarre looking, so creepy, that he hadn't been able to stand them. It had always been Yuri's job to get rid of any grasshopper that dared show up while they played together and, though Flynn had always insisted it be done by any means necessary, he couldn't remember Yuri ever harming one.

Flynn woke from a dream that felt like a memory. He had been back in the Lower Quarter with Yuri, both of them full grown. Yuri had caught a grasshopper, though Flynn hadn't feared them for years. He had just released it into the safety of a bush, and was turning back to face Flynn, a smile on his lips. The words he spoke were drowned out as the waking world flooded in.

Sitting up in bed, Flynn rubbed a hand over his face. How could a boy like Yuri, a boy who had only ever wanted to protect people, who hadn't even been able to kill the creepiest-looking bugs Flynn had ever seen...how could someone like that have grown up to be a murderer?

The day called to him, but he made no move to get up. Sunlight filled the room, clear and watery thanks to the haze of evaporating rain from lat night's storm. Birds were chirping, aggressively cheerful against the weariness that still clung to Flynn. He felt heavy and slow, nowhere near ready to face the work awaiting him. Last night, he had fallen asleep to thoughts of Yuri and the past. It was no wonder he'd had such a dream. He wondered what others had filled his mind only to be forgotten. They hadn't seemed to have left him with any new insights.

Flynn didn't feel much like working and, as his feet hit the cold flagstones of the floor, his resolve focused beautifully. The job was important and there were any number of things that needed to be handled both quickly and delicately, but it had been over a week since he had taken a day for himself, and it wasn't as if he felt like he would be able to summon the necessary focus at any rate. He decided to go down to the Lower Quarter, see how people were doing, clear his head. If he felt better later in the day, perhaps he would return to the duty awaiting him. Until then, it wasn't as if things were going to fall apart in the few hours of his absence. He dressed simply and left the palace behind.

* * *

 

Change had come to Terca Lumireis with the loss of the blastia, but one wouldn't know it simply by looking upon the bustle of the Lower Quarter. The rush of movement and the noise and even the smells from the marketplaces and the restaurants, the stables and forges were all just as they had been since Flynn's childhood. He slipped into the unceasing flow of foot traffic, a fish returned to familiar waters. The repairs made after Alexei's occupation of the capital were still apparent, patchwork sections of brick, wood, or stonework that hadn't yet been weathered by life and time. Around those reminders, the city had long since returned to its familiar routine. Business and trade moved the city's lifeblood—its people—through the streets. Zaphias had met the challenge of the new world and it was thriving. People hurried along on errands, restaurants and shops did a brisk trade, couples strolled together, friends went in search of diversions.

As Flynn walked along, a pair of children, little boys, maybe six years old or so, came tearing through the crowd, weaving, ducking, laughing and shouting at each other as they dashed right past him. They carried wooden swords, and Flynn was suddenly swamped by nostalgia, even as quiet pride swelled within his chest. The world those boys would grow up in was already a much better place than the one that had shaped himself and Yuri, and Flynn would make sure that things continued to improve. As he considered his own contributions alongside Yuri's, he returned again to the unsettling idea that the world was safer in part because Ragou and Cumore were gone. It was an unpleasant truth, and he sternly told himself once more that Yuri had no excuse for not finding another way.

Following the path of habit, his feet were taking him directly toward Yuri's old room. As soon as Flynn realized that, he chose another destination. The wide, sweeping steps he descended were filled with children playing, neighbors chatting, and people rushing to and fro about their business. He and Yuri used to fight mock battles with their wooden swords on those steps and in the square they led to. The memories followed at his heel, strong enough that he had to force himself to keep looking straight ahead rather than risk a glance back that would have left him lost in so many yesterdays.

His goal was the city gate and the freedom of the countryside beyond. No work to occupy every spare thought, no childhood haunts to drag his attention greedily down into memory. A walk in the open air suddenly seemed like the best idea in the world. Maybe he would be able to clear his head for the first time in what seemed like weeks. Maybe he would be able to take a breath, slow down, organize his thoughts. Maybe he could find some clarity and fortify himself for the task at hand.

His sudden change of plans met with just as abrupt an end. Just shy of the gate, he stopped in his tracks as Captain Schwann entered the city. He wore the bright traveling garb that had been part of his disguise when he had accompanied Yuri and his friends. As soon as those peculiarly pale eyes met his, Flynn put aside thoughts of solitude. He watched Schwann's expression ease. It wasn't the sort of warm regard he got from Yuri or Estellise, or even the bright admiration Karol afforded him that made him wonder what sorts of stories Yuri had been telling. No, the look Schwann fixed him with as he approached was not easy to read. Somehow, though, Flynn got the sense that he was relieved.

There was a moment of uncertainty as he came to a stop before Flynn, a few heartbeats where the formality of their positions and the unexpectedness of the encounter clashed. Then, Flynn smiled and offered his hand.

“Captain Schwann. Welcome home.”

“Shhh!” Before accepting the handshake, Schwann lifted a finger to his lips and peered around the square. “Just Raven, if ya don't mind.” He grinned sheepishly as he clasped Flynn's hand. “You'd be surprised how well dedication sharpens a person's hearing. I only just got back, and I'm not lookin' ta dive directly inta work.”

“Raven it is, then. How are things in Dahngrest?” What he wanted to ask was: How is Yuri? He both hoped that Raven would see through the question and prayed that he wouldn't.

The man pulled a face, an expression of exaggerated exhaustion. “If we're gonna be discussing serious matters, I'd just as soon do it over a drink. Join me?”

“For the conversation, certainly.” It was far too early to be drinking, and he wondered if Raven honestly meant to join his brigade afterward.

“Splendid! Any preferences?”

_Not The Comet._ “No.”

He rubbed his hands together. “Even better. It's such a nice, warm day out and I'd just as soon not be cooped up inside.”

Raven chose a cafe, a relatively new place that Flynn had never eaten at before. There were benches outside, and he bade Flynn save him a seat while he hurried in for his drink. Moments later, he was back with two tall glasses. He handed one off and clinked them together in a toast.

“Lemonade,” he said, and took a long sip. “Perfect on a day like today.”

With quiet thanks, Flynn took a drink of his own. It was stronger than he'd expected and very tasty. He would have to remember and come back another time. He wondered if Yuri had tried it before, if they would have a chance to come to this cafe together.

“I hadn't expected forgiveness to come so easily from you.”

The good humor had faded from Raven's tone. Flynn could hear echoes of Schwann, but suddenly he felt like the man sitting beside him was a stranger, someone neither he nor Yuri really knew. He could practically feel the weight of the past bearing down on him in those words.

“...You were there for us in the end. Besides, Yuri vouched for you.”

“Isn't that curious....”

“Hmm?” He wasn't sure what to make of that tiny, joyless smile, a crack in the mask that was Raven's face.

“No. Nothin'. Don't mind this old man's ramblings.” Suddenly, the mask was no longer cracked but whole, and Flynn was once more sitting beside the strange archer that had traveled with Yuri across Terca Lumireis. “You were askin' about things in Dahngrest?”

He turned his glass in his hands, staring down into the cloudy drink. Did he really want to talk about that right now? He would need to know eventually. Politics was inextricably entwined with his position, and insights into the governing of Dahngrest would aid him in working with them. Still....

“How is Yuri?”

He regretted the question as soon as it was out of his mouth. Yuri was fine. He'd been hearing all sorts of rumors about how well Brave Vesperia was doing as a guild. Anything else, he could have—should have—been able to find out on his own.

“Funny you should ask me that, you two bein' such good buddies an' all.”

Flynn laughed shortly, and took a hasty sip of lemonade. “There are certain things Yuri and I don't see eye-to-eye on.”

“Only natural. Wager it's not such a big disagreement as you think.”

He could barely believe what he was hearing, and kept his eyes trained straight across the square as he responded quietly. No one passing by would notice the turmoil hidden behind his posture and tone.

“You don't believe vigilante murder is something Yuri and I might have very different opinions on?”

“Not when it comes right down to it.”

“Don't give me that.” The words stoked angry coals. The way Raven had pronounced them so casually, so sure of himself and his assessment of Yuri's deeds and Flynn's response and the way their lifelong friendship further complicated it all. He spoke as if this could be simplified, made easier. If that was the truth, the uncompromising sense of brotherhood and pride Flynn had felt the night the Adephagos had been defeated wouldn't have faded. The thoughts and recriminations that whispered to him from the shadowed corners of his mind wouldn't have been able to hold Yuri hostage from the unquestioning friendship he wanted so badly to regain.

“Don't talk to me as if I'm not fully aware that he knows he was in the wrong. He still did it. He still made his choice.” Flynn ground the words out, keeping his voice level with no small effort. He had to force himself to ease his grip on his glass. The anger that had remained banked in him was stirring to life once more.

Raven nodded and took a long drink. “He did. And maybe it was the wrong choice. I've made plenty of those, myself. All due respect, I'm sure you have as well.”

“Our poor decisions stopped far shy of murder.”

After a moment of hesitation, Raven shrugged. “I s'pose no one can blame you for being so eaten up about this. Least of all, him.”

Eaten up about it. That was a good way of describing how his feelings on the matter were consuming him. He _knew_ Yuri had meant well. He knew those choices hadn't held the sick amusement or callus disdain that had marked the men he'd killed. But still...!

“He sank to their level. After all our talk about purging the corruption from this world, he broke the law and murdered two citizens of the Empire.” What did that make him? What did it mean for the dream they'd shared? What did it mean for Flynn, complicit if only by way of not arresting him immediately?

“You'll forgive my sayin' so, but it seemed ta me everythin' was peachy last time I saw th' two of you together.”

Thinking quickly back, Flynn realized that must have been shortly after the defeat of the Adephagos. He'd still been riding high on the victory. His best friend had saved the world, and the deaths of Ragou and Cumore had relegated themselves to the back of his mind. It had been easy enough in the chaotic days that followed to ignore the cold facts of Yuri's actions for a little while longer. He'd been unexpectedly reminded not a week after the triumph.

As if reading his mind, Raven spoke up. “You must've been pretty relived when Ioder pardoned 'im.”

Had there been accusation in his tone? Flynn looked up at him sharply, but there was nothing in Raven's expression as he watched the crowds to indicate judgment. Foolish of him to have suspected it even for a moment.

Even so, Flynn almost would have felt better if there had been. At least then he would have known that he needed to seek absolution for being grateful that a murderer was escaping justice, even though that murderer was his best friend.

He'd tried to keep it bottled up, that growing certainty that his relief was a betrayal of his ideals. It had been eating away at him in his unguarded moments, in the tired, fitful time before sleep claimed him. The things Ragou and Cumore had done had been monstrous, and the law—enforced by individuals of dubious character—had failed to see them justly served. That was fact. It was also a fact that Yuri had broken the law and murdered those men. He would not see punishment for what he had done—Ioder had seen to that—but the crimes stalked him. Unpunished, Yuri's crimes became ghosts that haunted nearly every thought Flynn had of him. When he had offered to share the burden his friend carried, he had never expected this.

“I was relieved, yes. At first, I was even happy for him. Escaping punishment doesn't make him innocent, though.”

“Also true in the cases of the councilman and the captain.”

“I don't need to be reminded about what they did.” That was just one more veil to be drawn over the issue, turning black and white into shades of gray.

“Fair enough. But would ya really have wanted th' kid imprisoned for life or put ta death over what he did?”

“I....” Yuri? Put to death? No. Never. But that wasn't for Flynn to decide. The law was clear. Yuri had chosen _knowing_ the consequences. It was a moot point after his imperial pardon, and Flynn had been dizzy with gratitude that Yuri wouldn't face such a sentence, but there should have been some form of punishment for his crimes. It was necessary for a fair society. _No one_ was above the law.

“I do stress that 'what he did' part,” Raven said. “'Cause it was more than just th' killing. He saved a lot more people than he killed.”

“There should have been some punishment. What Yuri did wasn't justice, and he wasn't served by it, either.”

“This is an all or nothin' issue. Givin' th' kid a slap on th' wrist woulda been nothin' but a _mockery_ of justice. Best that Ioder saw that and pardoned 'im. There'll always be _exceptions_ , but we don't need ta start right off _bendin_ ' th' rules. Ya end up just payin' lip service that way.”

“How is that any different?” What changes had they really made if those meant to enforce the law could still pick and choose who they enforced it upon?

“I imagine th' fact that th' kid wonders th' same is part of it.”

“What he did was wrong. He knew there would be consequences.”

“No one's arguin' that. But what about his reasons? What about the lives he was savin'?”

“I was on the way! I could have saved _everybody_!” Everybody, including Yuri. Flynn had failed him when it came to ensuring that Ragou faced proper justice, but if Yuri had waited only another hour, Flynn could have been there to protect him from himself.

“And in a perfect world we'da known that.”

Raven's voice was soft. There was no accusation in his tone, no blame placed for Flynn having arrived just too late. It still cut sharp as any sword. The coat he wore rustled as he shifted, and Flynn could tell that Raven was looking at him, though he himself was hunched over, eyes locked on the paving stones beneath his boots. He was sickened with guilt, and he could no longer tell if the anger roiling in his gut was at Yuri for breaking the law and betraying their dream or at himself for not having been strong enough, fast enough, powerful enough to have kept the decision out of his hands.

“Tell me: what would you have done if you'd been standin' in his shoes?”

“I'd have done the same thing I did: taken control of the town and put a stop to Cumore's abuses of power.” He heard the exhaustion in his voice. It was the right and lawful answer. It rang hollow.

“'S not what I asked,” Raven said, not unkindly. “If _you_ were in th' kid's shoes, if you had no authority ta back ya up against what was callin' itself th' law, if all ya had ta shield those people was your own strength an' th' friends journeyin' with ya...what would _you_ have done?”

“I...don't know.”

Didn't he, though? Hadn't he been on plenty of missions where he had rallied his fellow knights or led them against a common foe? In all those situations, he'd done his best to keep casualties to a minimum. Even thinking back on the beginning of his military career, he'd taken Yuri with him to confront Garista, and he'd never intended the fight to go as it had. Why hadn't Yuri called on his friends to aid him?

The princess. An imperial mage. A young boy. A Krityan warrior. An old archer. None of them soldiers, so far as Yuri knew, and none that he would have wanted to lead along the path he had chosen. Of course he had gone alone. Yuri wasn't the sharing type when it came to burdens.

So, what would Flynn have done in that situation? He wouldn't have risked Estellise, certainly, nor Rita or Karol. As for Judith and Raven...perhaps, but Flynn couldn't measure how much trust he would have placed in them. He hadn't traveled with them and formed the bonds Yuri had. It was a difficult question. What _would_ he have done?

“I don't know,” he repeated, softer. He watched the lemonade swirl in his glass as Raven clapped him on the shoulder.

“It's a hard thing to admit that what you know is right sometimes can't be accomplished without doin' what you know is wrong.” He sighed. The bench creaked faintly as he sank further into a slump, stretching out his legs. “Lookin' at it from the outside, it seems ta me that your biggest problem is that ya keep gettin' hung up on things bein' black an' white. But listen: Yuri left us all out of it. He didn't go after Cumore thinkin' that man had ta be dealt with no matter what. He coulda looked around at everything and had all of us followin' 'im ta help fight that battle. Kid did it on 'is own, though. Made sure no one else had ta cross that line. Aside from that...I think you know as well as I do what was in his heart. Really, you prob'ly know better.”

The smile that twisted Flynn's lips felt more like a grimace. “I'd like to think that I do, but....”

He thought back to the day he had confronted Yuri about his crimes, the day he had asked if his friend had any intention of stopping, if that blade might one day be turned against himself. Flynn shivered as he remembered how dark Yuri's eyes had been as he'd answered, and the way his voice had rung clear as a clash of steel on steel.

“Maybe you oughtta talk to th' kid about all this.”

“...I wouldn't know where to start.”

That wasn't quite true, though. In his hesitation Flynn had felt a shiver of fear. He was _afraid_ of having such a conversation with Yuri, afraid of what changes those choices had wrought in his friend. He was afraid to find out how serious Yuri had been that day on the pier beneath the bright light of the sun. Mostly he was afraid that if he looked into Yuri's eyes, he wouldn't recognize the person staring back.

He wanted to get back the unquestioning trust they'd had for each other as children. He wanted to return to that afternoon outside Aurnion when they had rediscovered their bond. He wanted to feel the way he had in the days directly following the defeat of the Adephagos. At that time, he'd found some measure of understanding for what Yuri had done. He couldn't condone it, but he had worked through much of his initial anger and sense of betrayal. Over the past two months, that had all come creeping back in, insidious whispers that brought him right back to that clear night in Mantaic when he had first learned how far Yuri had fallen.

Yuri broke the law. Did his pure intentions outweigh the need for the law to apply equally to everyone? That question was at the heart of Flynn's paralysis. If he had an answer, he would be able to move on, but an answer to that question was not so easy to come by. In his heart, he knew what he wanted it to be. His logical mind, however, was not so sure.

It seemed to him suddenly that he'd fallen back into his days of being a blindly obedient soldier. He was following the facts around in circles as if they were marching orders, but, ultimately, he would have to make a decision about which direction was right, which direction he would take his most important friendship in. Yuri was still awaiting his judgment.

“You never told me how Yuri is doing.”

Raven chuckled. “He's taken quite a shine ta life as a guild member. Jobs keep him busy, mostly: missions for Brave Vesperia or stuff needin' ta be done around town. He's become a real favorite. Maybe we're wearin' 'im out, though. Never thought he'd be th' type ta just sit around, but I see 'im perched sometimes in that window of his, watchin' over th' city.”

Flynn remembered the years after Yuri had left the Knights, how he had become so closed off behind the lazy smile that he could pull on like a pair of old boots. He remembered visiting Yuri, trying to encourage him to get out of the city and see the world. The Yuri that had spent his days sitting in a window and watching the world go by had been a guttering candle. Flynn hadn't been able to help him back then, and he didn't want to see Yuri sink back into that depression.

“How long will you be staying in Zaphias?”

“Oh, 'bout a week or two, I expect.”

“And then you'll be returning to Dahngrest?”

“Naturally.”

“May I.... May I join you when you return?”

“Certainly. Th' more, th' merrier.” He leaned closer, cupping a hand over his mouth as he stage-whispered. “Just don't tell my brigade I said that, yeah?”

Though his own concerns were far from being laid to rest, Flynn couldn't help but smile. “You have my word, Captain.”

Raven shot him a long-suffering look, but his own smile had more of a Knight Captain in it than a wandering archer. Flynn finished his lemonade and thanked him for the drink. He returned the glass and was preparing to return to the palace, but Raven had one last thing to say.

“He asked me ta look in on you. Not in those words. He just said ta tell ya hi if I should run inta ya. Guess you'll be able ta give 'im a response yourself.” He grinned and waved as Flynn walked off.

The route to the palace was almost as well-traveled a path for him as the way to The Comet, and once again, Flynn turned his steps from where his feet were leading him. Work could wait just a little bit longer.

He saw himself into Yuri's old room, still held for him by the landlady because the Lower Quarter's other favorite son needed a place to come home to, no matter how far he roamed or how long he stayed away. The door still creaked on its hinges, and didn't shut quite right unless you lifted the handle just so. Scents from the kitchen below mingled with the intrusive odor of dust that had nearly overtaken the old, familiar smell of habitation. The wall still held the first real sword Yuri had bought. Beneath it was mounted his blade from his time with the Knights. Yuri had taken most of his other scant possessions with him, but those swords had stayed. They didn't belong in Dahngrest.

The room felt cold without its rightful occupant, and Flynn crossed to the window to open it up and let the sunlight pour in. He pulled a chair over, refusing to sit on the sill because that space was meant to be filled by a different silhouette. Looking around the room, he sighed. It didn't feel quite like coming home the way it used to.

In the months since Yuri's pardon, Flynn had returned time and again to the questions of what was right, what was just, what was deserved, what should be forgiven. He'd done so in his bedroom in the palace, in his state room, in the halls and gardens. He'd done so surrounded by the laws and government that he was trying so hard to fix. In all that time, he hadn't come up with an answer. He doubted the few weeks between him and Dahngrest...between him and Yuri...would be enough time to manage it. He didn't know what he would say when he saw his friend again, but he had to try to bridge the distance between them. Sitting in Yuri's empty room, he felt that it was long past time he searched for an answer amid memories of their friendship.


	2. AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.

Yuri is drunk. Flynn can tell by the way he's stopped considering each new drink before ordering it. He's usually careful about watching his limit, but once he goes past tipsy he stops keeping count and drinks like a fish. Something is bothering him. He doesn't like not being in control of himself and wouldn't try to drown his inhibitions unless there was something lurking in his mind that he needs to wash away. When things get that bad, reason becomes an acceptable casualty.

Flynn watches him toss back the drink and intercepts the clumsy, 'keep 'em coming' gesture before the damage gets any worse. He takes out Yuri's wallet and pays the tab. He isn't looking forward to the drive home. For all that he rarely gets drunk, Yuri is unpredictable when intoxicated. Flynn isn't sure what set him off this time, and he doesn't relish finding out, though that reluctance to peer past Yuri's walls makes him feel a bit of a traitor. They're supposed to be able to help each other, aren't they? How can Yuri fully rely on him if Flynn doesn't know what's eating him up from the inside?

He hustles Yuri out of the bar and into the chill damp of an early spring evening. Yuri doesn't even try to close his old, black trench coat against the drizzle-laden wind, and Flynn knows for sure that he should have cut him off sooner. It's so hard to tell when Yuri's hit that limit, though. His warning signs aren't the standard slurred speech or clumsiness. No, Yuri is more subtle than that, enough so that even Flynn has difficulty being able to tell sometimes when he's had enough. He's not interested in finding out if Yuri is going to be an angry drunk, as he doesn't seem inclined to be chatty tonight. The sooner they get back to their apartment, the better. He can put Yuri to bed, let him sleep off the hangover he'll have in the morning, and, hopefully, whatever set him off will have weakened its hold by then. Flynn doubts that, but he doesn't like seeing Yuri so troubled, and he knows from experience that getting him to share his burdens is no easy matter.

Sliding in behind the wheel, Flynn reaches over and gently strokes Yuri's hair out of his face. “It'll be all right,” he says as he turns the key in the ignition. “We'll be home soon.”

It isn't just the drinking that's tipped Flynn off. Yuri has been acting strange all day. He's been taciturn. He hasn't smiled except for when he's caught Flynn staring, and then he's pulled on the expression like a mask. And like a mask, it hasn't affected his eyes. Restless energy left him fiddling with anything in reach earlier in the evening, but when Flynn tried to take hold of his hand for comfort, Yuri pulled away. He avoided Flynn's touch until he was too drunk to notice.

Yuri collects troubles like shoes collect scuff marks. Usually, they aren't enough to bring him down, to make smiling something he has to remind himself to do. Flynn's only seen him get like this a few times in recent memory, including back when he quit the police force. Yuri had spent two years in the doldrums back then, earning money through a string of part time jobs or by helping out around the neighborhood. It was a trying time for their relationship before he decided to become a private investigator. When he started, Flynn encouraged him mostly just to break him out of his depression. Over the past year, however, Yuri's business has grown and he's helped so many people. The work agrees with him more often than not, and, though Flynn worries sometimes when Yuri takes on potentially dangerous cases, it's good to see him so happy and so driven to make a difference. He doesn't want Yuri getting trapped in that depression again. The warning signs tonight worry him.

Flynn racks his brain for something in his caseload or Yuri's that might have triggered this, and comes up with nothing. The silence from beside him is unnerving, particularly with the way Yuri is watching the road so intently as Flynn pulls out into the sparse traffic. His gray eyes, usually as bright and lively as sunlight on the sea, are glassy. His mouth is set in a thin, grim line.

“What's going on?” Flynn asks. His voice sounds rusty, as if it's been out of use for much longer than that evening. Maybe it's only anxiety over learning the cause of Yuri's mood that tries to hold the question back.

A little over a week ago, Yuri was like this for a couple of days. It's unsettling for a recurrence to happen so quickly, and Flynn can't help but wonder if whatever has upset Yuri tonight is something that's been going on longer than he's realized. He tries to think back over the past week. How long has Yuri had those dark circles under his eyes? When did he start picking at his food with such disinterest?

Yuri is silent. He doesn't even look away from the road ahead. Trying to get through to him, Flynn reaches for his hands which lie limp in his lap. Yuri pulls out of reach with a convulsive shudder and, for a moment, Flynn is worried that he's about to throw up. He doesn't. He holds everything in, slumping in his seat like a sullen teenager. Flynn knows it's nothing so simple, though, because if it was, Yuri would be vocal about it. He'd be talking Flynn's ear off rather than damming up his words.

As he drives, Flynn suddenly feels claustrophobic in his own car. It's like being trapped in an elevator with a surly stranger and he hates the feeling because he's known Yuri practically his whole life. He's impatient for an explanation, and if Yuri doesn't start talking before they get home, Flynn will demand one once they're back in their tiny apartment.

They're on the bridge, crossing back over the river when Yuri speaks up.

“They found Ragou's body,” he says. His tone is flat, unsurprised. Flynn hadn't even heard that the councilman had died.

“What happened?” He's thinking Ragou was found in his bed or at his office, dead of a stroke, a heart attack, something like that. Something far easier than what he should have gotten after what he did to those children.

“Washed up in the river,” Yuri says. He's staring out the window at the dark waters below, but in the the blink of an eye, the car is back on solid ground and speeding away from the bridge. Yuri doesn't look back.

“Suicide?”

Yuri's laugh is a harsh and ugly sound that makes the hairs on Flynn's arms stand on end. “Him? No way. There was plenty more evil left in him.”

The discussion is making Flynn uneasy. Yuri isn't wrong about the man being evil, but for him to have been murdered.... “Are there any leads on who did it?”

“Depends on who you're asking.”

Despite the flow of warm air from the vents, Flynn feels a chill. “Obviously, I'm asking you. Do you know something about this?”

He looks over out of the corner of his eye to see Yuri's smile winking into and out of shadow as the streetlights rush past. The expression is cold and joyless, and a sense of dread begins to coalesce. It's an uneasy feeling in the pit of Flynn's stomach, and he clenches his fists on the wheel.

“If you know something, you need to go to the police.”

Yuri looses another short bark of laughter. “Might be a good idea. I bet the confession could get thrown out if I make it while I'm wasted.”

The sense of dread fills him, an icy explosion that makes Flynn's blood go cold in his veins. He nearly stomps on the brakes in his shock. Telling himself that Yuri must have been making a very bad joke is what allows him to continue on.

“That's not funny.” Saying it doesn't thaw him. He feels tremors running through his body and a sickening tensions knots up his muscles. No matter what he tells himself, Yuri didn't sound like he was joking.

“Wasn't trying to be funny.”

Yuri huddles in his coat and Flynn automatically cranks the warm air up another notch. Maybe it really is colder than he thought. Maybe the shivers and the dread are stemming from worry and exposure to Yuri's odd mood. He's got to be kidding and just taking the joke too far. He couldn't actually have done what he's implying. Yuri has a temper—Flynn knows that all too well—but he also knows right from wrong. He wouldn't kill a man, no matter how much harm that man might have done. He _wouldn't_.

“You're drunk. We'll be home soon and you can sleep it off. If there's any justice in the world, you'll have a massive hangover tomorrow as payback for your terrible sense of humor.”

“If there was any justice in the world, I wouldn't have seen Ragou at the park. He was watching the kids.”

Flynn can't keep telling himself that Yuri is only kidding. _Something_ happened. He drives a little further, just until he reaches a gas station and pulls in. The parking lot is so brightly lit that it feels surreal against the dark mood in the car. He picks an empty spot as far from the pumps and the store as he can manage and is turning to face Yuri practically before he's stopped. He fumbles for the keys to shut the engine off. They slip from the ignition, caught in his shaky grip.

“Yuri....”

He doesn't know what to say, what to ask. Yuri is curled in on himself and crushed against the door, one cheek against the window. He's staring resolutely out at the darkness beyond the streetlights, and Flynn is certain that he's seeing something else. He wants so badly to reach out and grab him, but he can't bring himself to do it. Instead, he takes a deep breath and tries to clear out the tension that's locking up his limbs.

“What did you do?”

Slowly, Yuri licks his lips. He's frowning a little, and his gaze isn't quite focused. “Was on my way home. Week ago. Little more. Cut through the park. He was there, sitting on a bench. Just...watching kids play. Seemed like no one else noticed him. I went to chase him away.”

“You shouldn't have approached him. You should have called the police.”

“If you'd seen the look on his face, you wouldn't have waited, either.” He shakes his head before continuing. “Got up and walked off when he saw me coming. I followed him to be sure he left, but he headed for the waterfall. You know how loud it is up there. Gotta be standing right next to someone to hear them.”

“Were you planning to threaten him?” Could that have been it? Planing to scare a predator away from his hunting grounds, had Yuri accidentally allowed the conflict to escalate? Had it simply been a terrible accident?

“Don't know. Just wanted him away from the kids.” For the first time, Yuri glances over. There's fury behind his eyes.

“Hachette was working that case. We still talk. He kept me informed. Showed me evidence to get another perspective. The police handled that case _by the book_ , Flynn! Fucking lawyers and their damn technicalities! He shouldn't have gotten off!”

Yuri rises from his slump, fists clenched and held high. He's ready for a fight, but there's no enemy here, only Flynn who had nothing to do with the trial. In the face of Yuri's rage, Flynn holds very still.

“I know they did their best, Yuri. And I know they followed procedure. This was an important case to everyone who worked on it. No one expected him to be acquitted.”

“So what the hell _happened_?”

“Limited or suppressed evidence, no witnesses to the actual murders, and he had a very skilled defense team.”

Flynn also suspects that Ragou managed to bribe or intimidate some of the jury members. There's been no evidence of that, however, and now isn't the time to suggest it to Yuri. He bears the seething glare as Yuri mutters: “Fucking lawyers” and turns his face away once more. Flynn trusts that the venom in those words isn't directed at him, despite his work as a prosecutor. Yuri is angry. He's hurt. He took the case very personally when it first came to light, and now it seems he's made it even more personal. Flynn hopes it isn't as bad as Yuri has so far led him to believe.

When he doesn't show any sign of returning to his story, Flynn prompts him. “You followed him to the waterfall...?”

“'Such a shame that the police and the District Attorney's office wasted so much time persecuting me when I've committed no crime at all.' That's what he said to me. He said they'd have done better looking for a suspect in the gutter where those kids came from. Said he hoped we'd all think twice before coming to him next time some homeless brat turns up dead. He smiled when he said it. Then he turned his back on me.”

Flynn can hardly breathe. He doesn't want to be listening to this, doesn't want Yuri—his lifelong friend, the man he wakes up beside each morning—to be a murderer. He feels like he's caught in a nightmare. The bright lights of the gas station, the colors and shadows, the sharp lines of Yuri's face—everything holds a dreamlike clarity. The details are suspended in the pauses between Yuri's words, pinned in place by the anger roiling beneath.

“What happened, Yuri?”

“People like him don't stop. You know that. They don't stop. They have to _be_ stopped.”

“What did you do?”

Yuri's anger drains away. The spark leaves his eyes. He slumps once more in his seat, looking exhausted. When he sighs, the reek of alcohol sharpens briefly.

“I protected the kids that would have been next. Had my knife on me. Wasn't anyone around. I stabbed him. Once. In the back. Tipped him over the rail into the river, after.”

Just like that, he's done with his story. He looks weary, drained, but not remorseful.

Flynn feels like he's about to vomit. He grasps the steering wheel with both hands and takes slow, deep breaths. He doesn't want to admit this is real, that it actually happened. He isn't even sure he believes it. Yuri isn't afraid of starting fights, particularly in defense of others, but he's never taken things too far. Flynn can't picture Yuri stabbing an old man in the back, no matter how black a heart he aimed for, no matter how many people he thought he was protecting. He can't picture him cleaning blood off his hands and coming home and acting normal afterward, but that was what happened. He remembers Yuri's depression a week ago, remembers how he'd been gone more often than usual for a few days and how he'd seemed so tired when he did come home.

How could he have missed this?

“You have to go to the police.” Flynn hears himself say the words. He knows it's the right thing to do. He wants to wake up.

“With alcohol on my breath?”

“Tomorrow, then. When you're sober. I'll go with you.”

With a murderer? Or with his best friend, his lover?

“Maybe. Maybe I'll wait till they come knocking. Maybe they won't come. Not much sympathy for Ragou. Not much motivation to find me.”

“Yuri! You have to confess! If you won't go, then I—!” He can't even say it. Yuri's gaze slides over to focus on him.

“Attorney client privilege. You're my lawyer. You can't tell.”

“I'm a prosecutor, not a defense attorney!”

“You're my lawyer.” He speaks calmly, but his tone implies that he won't hear any arguments to the contrary. “If it comes to it, you'll know the tricks they'll be using.”

“Yuri, I can't _defend_ you...!” It shames him how much that sounds like a plea. “You just admitted to killing a man!”

How _could_ he? No matter who it was or why, how could he have betrayed the law they had both sworn to uphold? How could he have betrayed _Flynn_?

Yuri's gaze is calm and steady. There's more trust in it than Flynn would have expected, and he wonders bitterly if that's a result of Yuri's drinking, or a true reflection of their suddenly shaky bond.

“I'm not asking you to lie for me. Tell them what I did, but at least tell them _why_. If you defend me and I go to jail, then there's no doubt that's where I belong. Better I get locked up than the cops getting another shot at Ragou over a kid's corpse.”

“Enough!” He can't deal with this right now. It's too much. He isn't sure he'll ever be able to deal with it. “We're going ho—back to the apartment.”

Is it still their home? Can he share his bed with a murderer? Yuri talks about trading the rest of his life for the lives of potential victims, but what else has he sacrificed? He'll have to go confess in the morning. On top of everything else, he can't possibly expect Flynn to keep this secret.

He starts the engine and pulls out of the station. He can't even look at Yuri, though he feels him sitting there, a familiar presence become strange. He had never even considered the idea that Yuri might be capable of such a thing. It takes an effort to make the short drive back to the apartment. Flynn wonders if he's in shock.

When they arrive, it's Flynn's turn to avoid Yuri's touch. He hurries him in from the car as if someone might glean the terrible secret from one glimpse of the two of them. He expects at any moment a flood of light, pointing fingers, accusations, demands to know why he didn't turn Yuri in immediately. None of this happens, of course. Their return goes unnoticed, and Yuri is soon sprawled on the bed, unconscious in moments by way of some combination of exhaustion, alcohol, and the unburdening of his guilt.

For a long time, Flynn stands by the bed and watches him. Thoughts dart through his head like schools of quicksilver fish. They are a mishmash of memories from a lifetime spent at Yuri's side. He barely acknowledges them, numb to everything and only able to stare, uncomprehending, at Yuri's sleeping face.

The decision to leave isn't one he makes consciously, but he needs to think, and he can't do that in the apartment. He certainly won't be sleeping there tonight. He takes his wallet and his keys, but he won't be taking his car. He doesn't trust himself behind the wheel. As he walks out, he pulls his coat closer. The wind is damp and cold, and he can already feel a chill settled deep within his bones. He isn't sure when he'll be back.


End file.
